Made Alive In Malawi

No need to appear tanner when the natural earthy glow of African dirt coats my fair skin.

No need to primp my long brunette hair when its meticulously french braided by loving hands, ready to take on the beaming sun and work in the village.

No need to take the polish to my nails when they will be met by hammers, dirt, corn husks, pigs, and hoes all day.

No need to squeeze my thighs into some skinny jeans when I will be wrapped in the vibrant fabrics of Malawi, just like every other woman and child.

No need to whiten my teeth when the authentic smile on my face has already been made so alive by Malawi.

No need to put my favorite swoosh on my feet when my feet are doing so much more than looking good, they’re taking me to places of brokenness and poverty, yet finding joy and hope.

No need to obsess on fashion when they wear rugged, mismatched clothes and ignore each hole that is patched.

No need to be ashamed of my amateur dancing when there, dancing is a freedom, a celebration, a act of worship for God.

No need to strive for fitness when I’m chasing down a scraggly soccer ball, handmade by the precious hands of a young Malawian.

No need to use a filter when the orphans’ glorious smiles brighten up the camera so much, when the orange sun dances behind every branch in the open sky, when the widows are stomping their feet so boldly.

(I need Africa more than Africa needs me and that’s authenticity)